


Hide and Seek

by DoubleStashed



Series: Hide and Seek [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, For Science!, M/M, Masturbation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Science Boyfriends, Telepathic Bond, Voyeurism, telepathy means you never have to talk about your feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:30:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleStashed/pseuds/DoubleStashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The problem with working around Jaegers for a decade is that the incredible begins to seem commonplace.  It was the same problem with knowing Newton Geiszler  – you forgot how extraordinary he truly was. " </p><p>A companion piece to "The Dust Has Only Just Begun To Fall".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed. All errors are my own.

Hermann Gottlieb was a prick. He had known it for years, and had never once let it worry him. He knew that he was nothing to look at, that he had all of the personality of an old dish rag, and that he had never been a prime physical specimen. Since the accident in Los Angeles, he had even had to stroke 'able-bodied' off of his mental resume. But none of that mattered, because the only thing that anyone ever wanted from him was his intelligence. He was abrasive, standoffish and oftentimes rude, but his co-workers and superiors alike put up with it because of what he could contribute.

The day he started to smile at strangers, he often thought to himself, was the day he could no longer do math.

Newton Geiszler was the outlier, however. He never fit into the equation. Hermann had known from the start that Geiszler was brilliant. The man was (and Hermann would only ever admit it inside of his own head) quite possibly as smart as he was. Geiszler didn't need his intelligence, and that made Hermann a gimpy prick with anger management issues and absolutely no social graces, and with no redeeming qualities. And yet the man stuck around, not just putting up with him, but actually seeming to enjoy his company. It was confusing, and Hermann hated to be confused.

Dr. Newton Geiszler, he was forced to accept, was simply different from anyone else in a way he had yet to understand. The problem with working around Jaegers for a decade is that the incredible begins to seem commonplace. It was the same problem with knowing Newton Geiszler – you forgot how extraordinary he truly was. 

And then, in a moment of sheer panic, he had volunteered to drift with Geiszler. They were trying to save the world, and that was certainly the defense he would give to anyone who questioned why he had done it. In truth, though, he would have drifted a dozen times to spare himself ever having to find Geiszler unconscious on the floor again. He would have put the helmet on and dove into the Kaiju psyche by himself, to prevent that. But Hermann was a very private person, and that was a very private thought. The upsetting part of it all was, however, that Geiszler had _seen_ inside of his _head_.

 

It wasn't running away, Hermann told himself. The simple fact was that he wanted to be back in London. And there seemed to be no point in interrupting the celebration happening in the Shatterdome. It was better, much better, to simply pack a bag with his essentials and leave on the morning flight. 

He was rubbish at goodbyes anyway, he told himself as the ground fell away beneath him.

 

~~~

 

He is determined to settle himself as quickly as possible in London. A furnished apartment, a quick whip round to the local grocery and there it was - home sweet home. He might even start to do the physiotherapy his doctors had been harassing him about. He might start to take his pain medication. He would work on all of the theorums he had been ignoring, what with the world ending and all. Perhaps he would get a cat.

Alright, not the cat. But the other things, certainly.

 

~~~

 

He has the first dream within 48 hours of landing in London. He blames it on the new surroundings, and on his hasty departure. It was some kind of subconscious reaction, he tells himself. And it was only a dream, after all.

He seemed to have been carrying a box, a cardboard box full of all of his personal effects that he had left in Hong Kong. He was hurrying, not really paying attention to what he was doing, and he had stubbed his toe on some piece of furniture in the room (why he hadn't been wearing shoes was beyond him). The pain was intense and it made him drop the box, spilling its contents onto the metal floor of the Shatterdome. His battered coffee cup, the one he had used for his entire time in Hong Kong, smashed across the floor. His foot throbbed, and he muttered a curse that sounded more like a sob.

When Hermann jolted awake, his foot was still throbbing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dr. Hermann Gottlieb is both very smart and very stupid in his own unique way.

The second dream he blames on his pain medication and physiotherapy, which combine to make him constantly tired. After the first few days, he gives up and starts going to bed at eight o'clock in the evening. There is no point in burning the candle at both ends, after all. For the first time in his adult life, the world isn't ending.

He is lying on his back in bed, and his room is completely, utterly dark, with no light from the street lamps filtering in through the windows. There is no noise from traffic outside, only the sound of his breath rasping as he fists his cock under the blankets. This, he realizes immediately, is a dream. The mere thought of doing _that_ in such a wanton, messy way is enough to make him uncomfortable. It certainly doesn't seem to bother his dream self, however. He is panting, hand moving faster now, almost too rough to even be pleasurable. He is, Hermann realizes, desperately unhappy. The feeling of loneliness seems to crash over him in a wave. He is alone, jerking off in a dark, empty room and he is lonely and very, very sad. The hand on his cock is more self-flagellation that anything else, his rough calloused palm catching against sensitive skin. He comes with a slow hiss of breath through his teeth.

He wakes up with his blankets stuck to him, his seed drying disgustingly to his skin. His face is wet. 

 

~~~

He has three more very similar dreams before he halves his pain medication dosage, which leaves him snappish and short-tempered. The only person he sees regularly is his physiotherapist, however, so it doesn't seem all that great a loss. The woman is a tyrant, and he is almost happy when he loses his temper at her. His leg is getting stronger by the day, he can't help but notice.

~~~

Before he knows it, it is the one-month anniversary of the Breach closing. He goes to a pub, loud and raucous with renewed celebration, orders a pint and drinks it in the corner. He is feeling sentimental, and gives in to the self-indulgent urge to think about all of the people who were killed in order to let these pub-crawling idiots drink themselves stupid. So many people he knew are dead, and he has left the people he knew that are still living. The thought makes him more sad than he expected. 

He drinks too much, and staggers home while people dance around him, speakers in the upstairs windows playing music into the streets. He takes an extra pain pill, and falls into bed.

He is glad when the dream starts, he realizes. His life has become pale and empty, and the dreams are short bursts of interest.  
He is in a shower; a utilitarian cubicle with a metal riveted floor that he recognizes immediately as being from the Hong Kong Shatterdome. There is hot, hot water cascading down his back, and he is leaning with one forearm against the metal wall. His other hand is between his legs, lazily stroking his half-hard prick. The air is steamy and he takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly as his hand tightens, moving faster. He looks down, and sees the intricate tattoos that cover the arm that is fisting his cock.  
Hermann wakes with a start, still rock hard in his boxers. He barely touches himself before he comes, messily, all over his sheets.

 

His head is still muzzy from the pain pills and the alcohol, but Hermann's mind calculates quickly as he stands next to his washing machine, waiting for it to be finished cleaning his bedding.

It might have simply been a strange dream, brought on by the irresponsible combination of alcohol and pain medication. He had, after all, been thinking of the people he had known in Hong Kong. It had felt very, very real, however.

Perhaps it was a memory, something he had picked up from Geiszler during the drift. Unfortunately, it was generally accepted that drifting didn't work like that. You saw what you saw, and you remembered it. Memories didn't _sneak_ around in your subconscious, waiting until you were vulnerable before making themselves known. And the two of them had drifted for less than a minute. Surely (and he had tried to convince of himself of this several times in the past month) Geiszler hadn't seen _too_ much of the inside of his head? They had both been so focused on the Kaiju, after all...

Real drift pilots were joined for hours at a time, until they were unbelievably familiar with each others' memories. Any rumours of telepathy after drifting stemmed from that – the two pilots were simply more likely to react the same way, to think the same things. There was _absolutely no_ evidence of any kind of telepathic bond after drifting. Of course, other drift teams didn't join their minds with a huge, alien hive-mind from another dimension. And they didn't drift using machinery cobbled together from trash. 

The Kaiju in Hong Kong had known _exactly_ where Geiszler was, after all. It made sense to suspect some kind of latent telepathic bond. And even after the Kaiju were gone, it was possible that a link could remain between the two of them. Hell, anything was possible at this point. The link could be weak, and only be triggered during times of increased physical stimulation. Perhaps it was only noticeable when the other party was especially receptive, such as while asleep. It was one in the morning in London; that made it nine o'clock in Hong Kong. It was quite possible that Geiszler would be having a shower at nine in the morning.

Hermann blushed despite himself. This was _science,_ he thought angrily. It needed to be studied. The effects could fade over time, and he had to gather as much data as possible. He realized that he should contact Geiszler, but the thought of that conversation made his blush return with a vengeance. He needed to experiment more, he thought to himself uncomfortably. His conclusions might be wrong, and there was no need to contact the other man without more information.

The next day, at precisely 9:00 PM, Hermann Gottlieb lay naked on his back in bed and tried not to panic. It was, he told himself firmly _for science_. He had always been willing to do whatever it took to further humankind's understanding of the world. It was 5:00 AM in Hong Kong, so chances were that Geiszler was sleeping. He just needed to do... this... and begin to construct a data set for whether or not Geiszler was capable of receiving dreams of what he was doing.

It was just stage fright, he thought to himself, as he lightly stroked his soft member. In his other hand, a wad of clean tissue was dampening with nervous sweat from his palm. After all, if this worked, Geiszler would feel everything that he was feeling. Of course it would be difficult to perform under such conditions. At the thought of Geiszler feeling his hand on him, however, his cock twitched, blood pooling in his groin. Right. Well, that was a little awkward, surely. It had been a while, he thought defensively.

Do not, he told himself, under any circumstances, think about Geiszler. Do not think about anything, at all, other than the feeling of your hand moving over your prick. Just keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut and get yourself off. Don't think about Hong Kong, or London. Don't think about how you're living in two rooms with white-painted walls and how you almost never talk to anyone and how you haven't had a good argument since you arrived in Britain. Don't be _lonely_ for goodness' sake. His orgasm almost surprised him when it came, his eyes flying open to stare at the flashcard he'd taped to the ceiling.

Right. 

He put on his clothes and then sat at his desk, writing the test notes in a notebook. 

Experiment #1, February 13 2025  
Start time: 2102 UTC (0502 HKT)  
End time: 2126 UTC (0526 HKT)  
Flashcard symbol: +

 

The next day he repeated the experiment. The ability to reproduce his results was critical, he told himself as he slid his hand down his stomach to his groin. That time he bit his lip as he came, the taste of blood in his mouth a surprise as he stared upwards.

Experiment #2, February 14 2025  
Start time: 2105 UTC (0505 HKT)  
End time: 2117 UTC (0517 HKT)  
Flashcard symbol: Σ

 

The third day he began to feel that he was getting the hang of it. His hand closed over his prick and he was almost instantly hard, pumping into his fist easily. He hardly lasted any time at all, coming so hard and so quickly that he failed to get the tissue in place, his seed splattering across his stomach. The experiment would have gone perfectly, he reflected afterwards, if he hadn't gasped Dr. Geiszler's christian name in the moment of his release. He would leave that part out of his laboratory notes, he suspected. 

Experiment #3, February 14 2025  
Start time: 2055 UTC (0455 HKT)  
End time: 2102 UTC (0502 HKT)  
Flashcard symbol: Ω


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermann and Newton yell and throw things and kiss and do other things as well.

Hermann was a terrible liar.  He always had been; his face gave away his emotions.  The one and only time he and Geiszler had played poker (deep in the basement of the Los Angeles Shatterdome during a power outage, the emergency lights flickering across their faces) they had played all of two hands before Geiszler had thrown his cards onto the table.  "I fold.  Permanently.  Seriously, we are never playing again.  I can tell that you're counting cards, first of all.  You keep getting this clever look on your face.  We're done, dude."   
  
They had discussed their work, instead.  Well, it started out as a discussion but quickly became an argument, and then escalated into what could almost be considered a brawl.  Geiszler had ended up standing on top of a table, shouting down an equal mix of insults, curses and inspired-but-insane theories, while beneath him Hermann had rolled back and forth in his wheelchair, shouting back and throwing the occasional chalk-board eraser.  
  
Geiszler could have gone upstairs via the stairwell like everyone else, but he never did.  He stayed in the basement, in the dark, shouting at Hermann until the lights came back on.  
   
  
The only person that Hermann was really good at lying to was himself.  
   
   
He only hoped to have more dreams, Hermann told himself, because he wanted to collect more data.  He didn't have any other reason for wanting them.  And he certainly didn't feel a rising panic each morning as, night after night, his sleep was undisturbed.  
   
By his fifth week in London he had a comfortable routine:  get up, _immediately_ take pain medication (or he knows he'll regret it later), then do his physiotherapy exercises.  After 45 minutes of those his leg was exhausted and he was sweating, although he was proud to note that he no longer needed to use a chair in the shower afterwards.  Then, work away on the theorums he'd been scratching out on the blackboards in the living room.  Eat, maybe take a walk.  Finally (for the past week, at least), do _the experiment_ in the evening.  
  
On the morning after his fourth test, (Experiment #4, February 15 2025; Start time: 2050 UTC (0450 HKT); End time: 2102 UTC (0502 HKT); Flashcard symbol: Ͽ) he woke up disappointingly well rested. With a sigh that he hoped made him sound like a long-suffering scientist in search of data (and certainly not like a lovelorn teenage girl sitting by the telephone) he began exercising his leg.  
  
He was almost done, his face damp with sweat and his leg feeling weak, when he heard the knock at the door. Well, not really a knock; it sounded more like someone had kicked it. Angrily. He limped over, cane tight in his hands, and looked through the peephole. Dr. Newton Geiszler was on the other side; just pulling back his leg to kick the door again. Swiftly, before he could, Hermann opened it.  
  
For a moment, Geiszler just stood there, staring at him. Then he slowly raised his hand to wave his finger in his face, shaking his head. Hermann recognized when Geiszler was gearing up for a long rant, and did the only thing he could think of to do: he backed up and motioned for Geiszler to step inside.  
  
Geiszler pushed past him, stomping into the apartment, and then slammed the door hard enough to make the walls shake, for good measure.  
  
“You...” he was still just getting started, pacing back and forth, pushing into Hermann's personal space before backing off again, knocking things over just for the sake of it. “You... you...”  
  
“Now Newton...” Hermann started, trying to be placating, and _that_ was the catalyst, that was what Geiszler had needed because after that he was shouting, right in front of Hermann, making him take steps back until he was against the wall and there was nowhere for him to go.  
  
“You _prick._ You unbelievable, arrogant son of a bitch. Who the hell do you think you _are_ to _poke_ at me like I'm some brain in a jar? What the fuck is the matter with you? You're like a goddamned robot! And _now_ you're going to call me 'Newton' as if everything is normal? As if nothing has changed and you can just call me that instead of Doctor Geiszler and as if you didn't _fucking_ leave? After we _saved the fucking world_?!”  
  
And that was Newton Geiszler, yelling and shouting and pushing his way into his home and into his personal space until he couldn't even get away from him, just like he did. Just like he _always_ did. And in that moment Hermann was so unbelievably glad to see him that completely forgot himself and laughed, one short “ha!”, right in Geiszler's face.  
  
For a moment he was completely still, and then Geiszler slammed his hand, palm open, into the wall next to his head. Hard. “You left. When half of the people we knew were goddamn dead. When the rest of us were still trying to figure out what the hell had happened. You left. Me there. Alone. And now you're going to _laugh_ at me? You were the only one there who _talked_ to me, dude. The only one.”  
  
And Geiszler's eyes are shiny and his arm is shaking where it's still braced against the wall, and Hermann is scared now, really scared for the first time since he arrived in London because Newton Geiszler isn't supposed to _cry_. He's supposed to yell, and rant and throw things and he isn't supposed to feel _hurt_ , dammit.  
  
“I'm just...” and Hermann closes his eyes for a moment, embarrassed. “I'm just glad to see you, that's all. Truly glad to see you.”  
  
“You weren't even glad to see me,” Geiszler grinds out, his face red and his jaw clenched, “When I _dug you_ out of a pile of rubble in L.A. Don't bullshit me. You are going back to Hong Kong _today_ , end of discussion, because you never got any of the brain-scans that they made me get after we drifted with the Kaiju, and you never even took your stuff out of the lab, and there's still tons of work to do and we _need_ an abstract mathematician and we need _you_ , dude, so whatever you saw in my head that made you leave we'll work it out and we'll talk about it if you want to talk about it or we can _never_ talk about it if you never want to talk about it and if you hate me now, really hate me, or something then we can _deal_ with that and you can experiment on my head all you want, okay? But you have to come back to Hong Kong.”

  
Hermann has the familiar feeling that he only gets when talking to Geiszler: that he had missed something. "I..." and he chooses his words carefully, speaking quietly and precisely because Geiszler is breathing heavily and his bitten-down fingernails are digging into the wall where his palm is pressed next to his head. "I didn't see _anything_ during the drift, not really. Not anything that made me want to leave. But I knew that it would be awkward and difficult afterwards. I am.... not accustomed to sharing my feelings, let alone sharing the inside of my head." Geiszler is staring at him, staring like he doesn't trust him at all, and it makes his stomach clench for reasons he hasn't quite worked out yet. "But I'll come back to Hong Kong, of course."

And Geiszler is carefully, almost delicately grabbing hold of his shirt in both hands, twisting it around his fingers until his knuckles are white and the muscles in his forearms clench, colourful under the tattoos. "You'd better." he says, shaking Hermann slightly, pulling his face closer, so that they're nose to nose. "This is two strikes, dude. Twice you've walked out like this. That's it. After this, if you leave I will _personally_ break your leg, and properly this time so you can't walk out again. And you know I mean it, because you're in my head now." .

Hermann realizes, with a sudden clarity, exactly how hurt Geiszler was after he'd gone, and how desperate he is to get him back. And he has to admit how miserable he's been in London, and how very, very sorry he is that he ever left. Geiszler knew how lonely he was, he realizes, and he followed him. And he _was_ inside of his head. They were drift compatible and they had done the impossible and saved the world and seen inside of the Kaiju hivemind and now Geiszler was _back_ once more, just like he always was, to push him and goad him and make him be better than he was. Being around Geiszler made him giddy sometimes, as if he were short of oxygen, and it made him not care if he looked foolish, just for a little while, because his enthusiasm was infectious and he _loved_ how it felt to not care, and he _loved_ Geiszler's ridiculous handshakes that he never bothered to learn, because he _loved_ the way it made Geiszler roll his eyes at him when he couldn't do them, and he loved... well, it was becoming quite obvious, now that he thought about it.

Geiszler's face is still only a few inches from his, and it's so easy to lean in just a little, so that their lips brush. And it's easy to take a deep breath, and tilt his head to the side and do it again, and then again and again, until Geiszler's hands are knotted even tighter in his shirt and they're both breathing as if they've been running. He can feel Geiszler's heart racing where his chest is pressed against his, and below that, he can feel the hardness between them where he can't help but grind his hips, ever so slightly.

For once in their lives Hermann is more under-dressed, and he's cursing that now because Geiszler's clever fingers are already ghosting over his skin, tickling along his hips and up underneath the shirt he'd been sleeping in a few hours ago. He fumbles with the ridiculously skinny tie and button-up shirt, finally dropping both of them onto the carpet next to his cane. Newton Geiszler is colourful underneath his clothes, and of course he would be, because that's the way he is. His blunt, clever fingers are sliding up and down Hermann's back and that's him, somehow blunt and sharp and colourful all at once.

Newton gasps when Hermann touches him, long fingers mapping out his skin, tracing the colourful lines and soft contours. He moans when Hermann bends a little bit to taste him, to draw his tongue along his collarbone and trace his lips up along his neck, stopping just below his ear. He's pushing and pulling at Hermann now, desperate in a way that Hermann would consider making fun of, if he wasn't feeling fairly desperate himself. They're so close to the bedroom, but getting there takes time, each step a battle of lips and hands and teeth, because neither of them have ever given an inch to the other before this, and there is no reason to start now.

The bed is underneath him, suddenly, and then Newton is on top of him, knees on either side of his hips. He's panting and asking Hermann if his leg is alright like that, even as Hermann gently takes Newton's glasses off and sets them carefully to the side and _that_ must be what love is, right there, Hermann realizes with a warm rush that starts in his stomach and spreads outwards, tingling in his fingers and toes.

Neither of them are going to last, not with weeks (or was it years?) or foreplay behind them, and neither of them care. Hermann simply buries his fingers into Newton's hair, pulling his mouth down to cover his own, and rocks upwards against him. Newton is noisy in bed, moaning and cursing against his mouth, saying things that would probably make Hermann blush, except that they make his pulse pound in his ears and his dick even harder, if that's possible.

When he comes, it's with Newton's name on his lips and Newton's hand on his dick and Newton wrapped around him, arms so tight he thinks he might never let go. When Newton comes a moment later, gasping and cursing out his Christian name as though it's the filthiest thing he's ever said, Hermann thinks he might come again, just from hearing that. And afterwards, in the afterglow, Newton leans in to kiss him relaxed and slow, and Hermann smiles so broadly that his face aches.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my fuel. Criticism welcome.


End file.
